Daddy

Dear Daddy:


It’s Father’s Day and I wanted to tell you I love you. I remember a lot of things about you, but most of all I remember feeling loved and protected. I don’t remember ever feeling unloved or unwanted.

I think being a father was different than you expected. You never really got the chance to be a father with Allan (*) and, although you did what you could for him, I’m sure it was very painful to know there was just nothing else you could do. I’m sure it was hard to send him to live somewhere else where they could provide the care he needed. He’s doing well and will probably out-live me.

With me, you had a full-time job. Being older (both you and mom) must have brought some challenges keeping up with a busy baby, toddler and young girl. You never really got to see me as a pre-teen or teenager, or through college or marriage or see your grandchildren.

My ‘fantasy’ involves you sitting with God in heaven and looking down on us all as we go about our days. I wonder if you’d be pleased or put-out with my naming my first-born son James and not Gordon. Mom and most of the Kirkwood’s were less-than-pleased, as they reminded me your name was Gordon and that was what everyone called you. I decided on James after you and your uncle – and to be honest, because I couldn’t saddle a child with the name “Gordon” in 1993. I hope you understand.

Blake has the middle name “Roper” because I have guilt about being a boy and not being able to carry on the Roper name. I don’t know if that bothered you or not, or if you even thought about it; but I carried that with me all throughout my growing up years and resolved that one of my children would carry the middle name of Roper so hopefully the name wouldn’t die out on my watch.

I think some days about how much you would have enjoyed doing things with them; teasing them (like you used to do to me), fishing with them (remember Jess’s Ranch?), or maybe even taking them on trips. That’s all pretty much fantasy too, as your health wasn’t great towards the end and to be honest, you would have been 90-plus by the time James was born.

I hope you would have loved my girls as well; even though, or maybe especially because of the fact that they weren’t mine to begin with. I have two beautiful grandchildren and two wonderful son-in-laws; things you never got to experience. And, sometimes I take it for granted, even though I shouldn’t.

I’m sure you would love my husband. He’s enough like you that you probably would have driven each other nuts, but gotten along well enough to smoke cigars, fish and play poker; and, of course, fought over who was better equipped to take care of me.

Daddy, I don’t always miss you, but you’re never far from my heart or my thoughts. I’m looking forward to the times when I can sit with you in heaven and talk about all the things we’ve missed together.

I love you.



(*) Allan is my father’s son; institutionalized in California with severe mental and physical challenges. He is about 11 years older than I.

Betrayal

I guess I’m over-sensitive about things. I personalize what, in truth, wasn’t my doing at all. I’m arrogant enough to believe if I’d done something different, or said the right thing, or change a certain something; things would be different.


I don’t understand deceit; lies, sometimes – about hair or clothing or saying that you liked the movie when you really thought it was just plain trash. But deceit? Going behind someone’s back or not telling someone the whole story or hiding all the facts – that goes beyond trying not to hurt someone’s feelings because of a haircut or a dress.

I am beginning to see the dark and ugly side of life on a much more regular basis now. Following the rules on just the bare other side of cheating. Failing to take responsibility for actions you could have controlled or changed but chose not to. Making other people the excuse for your reactions or placing the blame and guilt on them when it was your fault it happened at all.

I feel betrayed. Why? You refused to accept the blame and reflect on the changes that should have been made; placing the blame on me. All would have been forgiven if you had just, could have just said “I’m sorry, it was my fault and I understand you did what you felt was right.” Instead, you took the blame, the excuses, and the hatred; gathered them around you like a blanket. Used them as a shield against accepting the extent of the damage you did. And carried that shield into battle; making it a hill to die on. The battle was against me; and you made it not only personal, but extended it to anyone and everyone that believed or trusted in me. Some of them never realized the extent of your bias, your hate, and contempt. But I knew, I found out, I realize how much hatred and anger you have carried.

You spread lies about me to people who have never even met me. You stoked the fires of hatred among those that needed no further prodding to believe the worst. You created confusion in situations where my name – my integrity – my reputation should not have even been questioned; because I had no involvement in the incident until you brought me into it.

And, then, you acted as if nothing had ever happened. As if you had forgotten the years of disrespect and scorn you threw around to anyone who would listen – and quite a few who didn’t care to. You smiled and pretended that it was all bygones. I almost believed that you had seen the folly, the errors, and the reasons.

I found out; not because I am nosey or wise or even have connections. But the deceit will always be transparent – even if not at present. You waited, silently, smilingly until you believed I was no longer a force; a presence. But the truth came out. And I see now that your pretense, your acting, your deceit was much more than I believed you capable of.

The hopes I held for our friendship being renewed have burnt in the fire of contempt you created.

I am finished.

Happiness

So many of my posts have been filled with rants and peeves and just general dis-gruntledness; I’m sure many of you (at least those that read the blog) might wonder if ANYTHING makes me happy? My husband will unequivocally swear that absolutely nothing he ever does seems to make me happy; but I’m sure there are a few things, in general, that do (in no particular order)…

Puppies – Notice I did not say baby animals. Although baby animals have a cuteness factor that is hard to ignore, they do not, per se, make me “happy”. Puppies frolic and play and bark and lick and chew. These can be very annoying things, I will admit, but in puppies it tends to be cute. Unless it’s your shoes they’re chewing on or the flower bed you just planted that they’re digging up. However, the act of a puppy playing and running in a backyard of children is just too much to not laugh about. And there is just something about puppy ‘kisses’ – actually pretty much dog kisses from any age of dog – that makes me smile.

Music – pretty much any kind of music, although it depends on the mood and the day. Usually anything summery or with a drum beat can get me to bob my head and feel better. And, I’ve discovered that gardening is pretty pleasant when I have my earphones in and don’t have to listen to the complaining of my children or husband about whatever is going wrong at the moment. Actually, that makes just about everything more pleasant.

A Clean House – I pay for someone(s) to come and clean my house twice a month. I pack all the children that I watch up, either take them to school or to the bible study care person (Thanks, Doug) and have two hours with friends, spent without children (except Hayden, who sleeps through most of it). The best part of it (sorry, friends) is that twice a month, after I’ve gathered all the little darlings back into my car and drug them home, I walk into a sparkling, shining clean home – including (BONUS) a spotlessly clean bathroom. And I didn’t have to spend four hours and countless interruptions doing it myself. Granted the cleanliness only lasts until the youngest in my house comes home from school, but a few hours of pretending I live in a magazine home is better than nothing. And, I get the anticipation of having it happen all over again in another two weeks.

Good meals with Good friends – I like to eat, and I like to cook; cooking and eating also usually involves friends and wine. My children don’t seem to appreciate what I cook, so the satisfaction of preparing something for a friend (even if they don’t gush over how wonderful it is) makes me happy. I don’t have to put up with the sulking, pouty, frowning faces across the table from me because I didn’t make chicken nuggets or order pizza for dinner.

Unsolicited compliments – a completely spontaneous notification from someone-other-than-my-husband about something nice about me will pretty much ensure a smile and a warm-fuzzy feeling. I love my husband, but I always feel his compliments have an underlying ulterior motive and am suspect of their validity. It’s kind of like being complimented by your mother. They don’t have to say nice things to you, but you kind of don’t believe them when they do because, well, they kind of have to.

Politically Incorrect Comedians – I have an odd sense of humor. And, sometimes it’s pretty blue (as in raunchy – not depressed). I find some types of un-PC humor extremely funny. And, some of it I find offensive. I think people (including me) need to laugh at themselves more often. We would be better equipped to handle the drama in our lives if we could learn to just see how stinkin’ funny some things really are. I’m way too literal (high-strung?) to do this myself; I need someone who’s paid obscene amounts of money to point out the obvious hilarity of certain situations.



I’m sure there are more things that make me happy; but I can’t think of them right now. I’m too busy being peeved at whatever it is that’s ticking me off today.

People really tick me off

Ever have those days where just about EVERYONE really ticks you off? Well, I’ve been having a LOT of those days lately and it’s made me pretty reflective about myself. I don’t want to grow into one of those old ladies who shakes her cane at children as they play in the park, but then I think, maybe I’m already there…

• People who can’t seem to use a crosswalk because they’re apparently too stinking lazy to walk a few more feet (gasp – maybe even yards!) to be in a crosswalk. These are the same people who have the audacity to glare at me because I had to stop quickly to avoid them as they lazily stroll across the parking lot or street while talking on their cell phone. I can’t tell you how my foot itches to stomp on the gas pedal during these times. Usually the only thing that stops me is that they are dragging at least one innocent child with them (or pushing a stroller).

• People that think blinkers (a/k/a turn signals) are an option when changing lanes or turning a specific direction while driving. I think they come standard on every motor vehicle. There’s PROBABLY a reason for this. I think it’s so the people behind you in traffic can tell where you intend on driving next so we can avoid being behind you.

• People who can’t leave a message on the answering machine. Or people who can’t leave a message that I CAN UNDERSTAND. Or people that call, leave a message and then call my cell phone and leave a message and then call the home phone again. If you have an emergency THAT HUGE, the number to dial is 911. They will have men with a lovely selection of self-hugging jackets visit you and take you to your new home. You may even get a shiny pair of bracelets to wear for a while. While I’m at it, people who can’t let the phone RING long enough to let the answering machine/voicemail answer the call. In their haste to answer the call from yet another telemarketer (yes, we have CALLER ID!) they crushed two small children and smashed several toys into the floor; and then whine because they hurt themselves in the flight.

• People who are apathetic. Well, maybe I really don’t care about that one as much.
• People who have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about but will argue with you just to argue – even if they know you’re right. These are the same people who like to take one word from the dialogue and throw it back in your face because they disagree with the ‘meaning’ of that word. And, they randomly throw in words like “racist” or “Bigot” or “religious nut/whacko” because it’s obvious to them that the only reason you have these beliefs is because the voices from god (small “g”) tell you so.

• People who are for any reason, at any time, to any person; inconsiderate. I blame this on the children from the 60’s. “If it feels good, do it” no longer really has any basis in ADULT life. “Please” and “Thank You” have taken a vacation for far too long. They are tired of visiting other places and want to come home. To stay. And, it’s really NOT necessary for you to cut in line (or in traffic). Getting there 5 seconds earlier than everyone else does not make you anything more than a jerk that got there before everyone else. The upside for this for those of us that didn’t beat you is we probably get to leave first as your car is stuck behind the 3,547,894,124 other fast jerks that got there with you.

• People who think their money (or car or home) makes them more important than all the “little people”. Not everyone with money feels this way, thankfully. Someone in your family tree was a “little people” at one time; and you could be there again rather quickly if not for the grace of God and your broker. Oh, and your secret bank account in the Seychelles. My money is the same color green as yours. It spends the same. I may not spend as much of it at once as you do, but everyone needs to buy toilet paper and toothpaste. Get over yourself.

• People who believe that a problem not solved is just a problem with not enough money thrown at it. Fix the stinking problem. Don’t just wallpaper over the cracks with dollar bills. They’re probably not your bills anyways.

• People who don’t understand the concept of following the law. This means that you file your taxes, pay your bills, get the appropriate paperwork and don’t steal your neighbor’s TV (or car or home). Even if you don’t like the rules. These people seem to think that laws are small annoyances that boring people (apparently, like myself) adhere to because we’re not creative enough to do otherwise. I have plenty of ideas of how I’d live a life of crime and corruption. I was just raised well enough not to follow through with them; I write about them in fiction novels instead.

• People who don’t do their job; then whine or complain or manage to find a way to get someone else to do it for them; and then take the credit for it. If you want a job where you get all the credit for doing the job while doing absolutely nothing, I believe there are several government positions available called ‘representative’ or ‘congressman/woman’. Elections are held annually; good luck.

• People who change the rules because they don’t like them (or they’re not winning). This is cheating. It’s also cheating when you make the numbers “look right” or ‘fudge things just a bit’. Or give yourself an unfair advantage – even if others could do the same. Or stand on the side of the line that’s shady, even if it’s not apparent to everyone else that it’s shady.

• People who don’t think that competing is ‘fair’. Someone always has to come in 2nd: in baseball, business contracts and political races. This is called life. Just because you came in 2nd does not make you a loser; it makes you 2nd best. This is not an insult. The only time you ‘lose’ is when you cheat or choose not to compete at all because you might lose. Some of the biggest winners in the world did not start out that way.


Now, as you’re reading this, you’re thinking what a hypocritical, judgmental jerk I am. I know, I feel the same way. Sometimes I actually forget to use my blinker or take a short-cut and walk across the parking lot NOT using the crosswalk. And, when I do, you can shake your cane at me, too.

My very own Fairy Godmother

Growing up, I loved the fact that Cinderella had a Fairy Godmother. I really related to that, because I had my own. She didn’t make a dress out of straw or carriages out of pumpkins, but she made my life a fairy-tale in so many ways.

Gramma Georgeanna was my mom’s best friend. They did everything together. I never remember a time with Gramma that there wasn’t laughing involved.

I ate turnips at her house for the very first (and probably last) time. She also taught me to make caramel from a can of Eagle Brand condensed milk, cooked in the can in a pan of boiling water. Open the can and spoon it right into your mouth. One night at dinner at her house, she had a bottle of bubbly (I can’t remember if it was actually champagne or not). We spent the entire evening laughing hysterically as, over and over again; Clarence put the cork into the bottle, shook it up and waited for the cork to pop – right into the ceiling. I think when she sold the house the cork marks were still on the ceiling of the dining room.

I spent hours doing jigsaw puzzles with her. And “junk” jewelry? The woman had drawer-full’s. And she never hesitated to let me play.

Gramma was going to Hawaii in 1973 and my mom made her a pair of turquoise blue polyester “Bermuda” shorts; except, they were too short to be “Bermuda” length. My dad helpfully suggested that mom add extra length with a row of wide red lace. My mother did and the shorts went to Hawaii (this picture was taken after she returned I think; note the Hawaiian shirt).

Gramma never to my memory ever had her hands not completely covered in rings; beautiful, jewel-encrusted (real or not) rings. She wore caftans and mu-mu’s and wide-legged pants and loud print tops. She and my mother scoured clearance racks and bought purses and junk jewelry in bulk so there was always plenty of fun things to share. One birthday party for me, she and my mom had a purse and a ring or two for each of my friends. They had a box of each and my friends got to pick whatever they wanted.

We visited Kennewick, WA a few years ago – the last physical time I saw Gramma. Her granddaughter, Cyndi lives there and we traveled east to spend the day. James and Blake and Russ and I had a fantastic time. We fed ducks at a park and laughed and reminisced about everything. Gramma was in her 80’s by then and it never slowed her down a bit.

A few years earlier, when James was just a few months old, Gramma, her grandson, Don (with wife Robin) and I met at Spaghetti Factory in Seattle. Don and Robin have a son, Mitchell about the same age as James.

I can never remember a time when Gramma wasn’t ready to go do something: anything, anywhere, anytime. It makes me glad, in a way, that I didn’t see her in her last years. She was always a woman on the go. She never complained about hammer toes or arthritis or any other ailments – she just packed up and went.

Shortly after I met Russ, Gramma and Mom made a trip up from California to Washington on their way up to Alaska. She had a chance to meet Brie (I think Jessica, too) and my mother-in-law, Pat. We went to Ivar’s and saw the touristy sites I’m sure she’d seen before. It means so much to me that she was able to meet all of my children in one way or another throughout the years.

Mom and I visited her in Chula Vista, CA, one summer. She drove us across the border (before you needed passports) to Tijuana. She bought me a beautiful glass what-not case I had up until a few years ago. It was a day of shopping, fun and laughter. We spent a day in “Old Town” (San Diego) once too. I took a liking to some Native American Prints. She and my mom bought the entire set and gave them to me as a birthday present that year.

Gramma was never afraid to DO anything. She outlived three husbands and never thought twice about moving across the country or the ocean to help her sons or grandchildren. I have no idea how many places she lived or traveled to in her lifetime, but I know she took fun with her wherever she went.

In some ways I miss her more than my mother. If I could grow old like Gramma, I wouldn’t mind it so much. Rest in peace, Gramma. I hope there are champagne corks in heaven.



Her son, Charles, sent me this obituary today, May 26, 2010:

Georganna Leonard, 97, passed quietly on May 26, 2010 at Chateau Living Center in Kenner, LA.



Georganna was born Georganna Baker at a farm 35 miles East of Pueblo, Colorado on November 2, 1912 to George Earl and Angeline Ann Baker. Georganna lived a very well traveled and colorful life. She is remembered as a woman who loved square dancing, dressing up for evenings out, and traveling the world with friends, but was just as comfortable swinging a sledgehammer when helping her boys build their homes.

Georganna graduated from Sylvania City (Ohio) high school in 1930. She married Charles Cross in 1935 and, after their honeymoon to Niagara Falls, they resided in Toledo, Ohio. She had two sons, and raised them in California while Charles served in the Navy during WWII. After her divorce in 1951, she worked as a secretary, a personal administrative assistant, and later became a licensed real estate agent.

She met and married George Laberdee in 1962 in Palm Springs, California but their happy marriage was cut short by his death in 1966. In 1969, Clarence Leonard squared danced his way into her life for many happy years in Chula Vista and Apple Valley, California. She was a 50-year member of The Order of Eastern Star.


Georganna is survived by her sons, Charles Robert Cross and Stanley Owen Cross (Barbara), grandchildren Carol Hunt (Tim), Jennifer Cross, Cynthia Rakowski, Don Cross (Robin), Kimberley Alonso (Joe), godchild Paige Roper Norman (Russ) and great-grandchildren Becky, Laura, and Sam Hunt, Robin Rakowski, Mitchell Cross, Chandler Cross, Brandon Alonso and Justin Alonso.

Georganna was pre-deceased by her spouses Charles O. Cross (2001), George Laberdee (1966), Clarence Leonard (1982), grandchild Charles Stanley Hamilton (1979).

As she wished, no memorial service will be held and her ashes will be scattered among the wildflowers in the high desert of California.

Horrible Parent

I’m a horrible parent.


Okay, now that I’ve said that you can all take me off that pedestal. I realize that some of you mistakenly take me for some kind of highly motivated, extremely organized super-woman. In my dreams. But the good news is that if I admit that I’m a horrible parent, I’m probably not all that bad. I think it’s the people, who are oblivious to exactly how horrid of a parent they are, that are the truly bad parents. These are the parents that have no clue that little Johnny lies, cheats, steals and is mean to others. Or that their darling little princess is really more like Attila the Hunness around her playmates and teachers.

I am well aware of my children’s faults as well as their brilliancies. I have four, as I’ve mentioned before. Two are my step-daughters that I’ve known since 4 and 7 respectively. They are both married, and one has given me two grandchildren. One has returned to school for her nursing degree, the other has a great job at a local travel company. They had their regular, normal teenage angst, loves, hates and issues. At one point, they both moved in with their dad and I; we had weekends and holidays and trips to the airport and ferry rides before that.

My sons are still in their childhood, although my high school junior would be a bit miffed that I call him a child.

All four children have in their time lied (this is also known as fibbing, stretching or embellishing the truth, exaggerating, managing the story), avoided, picked on, been bossy to and downright mean to other children including, but not limited to their siblings. I’ve dealt with clothing issues, sharing of toys, library books that have mysteriously disappeared and just as inexplicably reappeared a year later in the other child’s room among other trials .

One daughter will forever be teased about the skip day she and her friend engineered. I was working part time then, and left for work at 9:30-ish after getting up and making sure the daughter was off to school and hubby was off to work; I would nap in bed until 9 and then take my shower. This particular morning was no different, except instead of leaving for school, the daughter snuck back into her room (or maybe never left) and her friend snuck in the house. Quietly, they called the school and phoned in the excused absence for the day. They planned to wait until I left for work and then walk to town or play around at the house or whatever skipping teenagers (that don’t get into BAD trouble) do. I’m pretty blind without my glasses, and I will never be a morning person until after my shower and a couple of cups of coffee. So, blindly (in more ways than one) I stumbled to the bathroom but heard a noise in the daughter’s room and decided to investigate. In my glass-less vision, the bed was ‘lumpy’ and there were noises that could have been cat-like, but as I watched, everything seemed to settle down so I continue with my morning routine. Until I got out of the shower, and went to get dressed when I distinctly heard giggling. I’m probably not the brightest bulb in the box, but I’ve never, ever heard a cat giggle. So, with my glasses on this time, I ventured into the teenage girl’s room and discovered my daughter trying to crawl under the bed covers – an attempt to make the unmade bed look lumpier I suppose – and she was busted. Long story short, I called her father at work and she lost her birthday celebration. We can laugh about it now, and I remind her that her daughter (or son) will probably do something very similar so she can get the full payback she deserves.

The other daughter was such a pain-in-the-neck one summer, one particular vacation, that her sister begged me to leave her at Disneyland. And never get her back. Ever. (I think if she had believed the animatronics Pirates were real she would have arranged to sell her for a profit). It was pre-teen stuff: the rides were too dumb, the lines were too long, it was too hot, the food was too yucky, she was tired of riding the rides her sister wanted, blah, blah, blah. It was a very long vacation that ended with her biting me in the arm and me slapping her mouth as I threatened to leave her there to walk home alone from the restaurant. (We’ll cover my feelings about corporal punishment in another post). Again, we laugh about it now and I threaten her with the memory of who the grandmother of her children will be.

I have a son that refused to eat hotdogs as a child. And spaghetti or pasta of any kind in any way until he was 7. He literally lived on salad, chicken nuggets and peanut butter from age 3 until about 12. We tried (and are still trying) everything from punishment, begging, bribing, counseling, reheating, tears and threats. Nothing. At this point I’m pretty sure his wedding reception will consist of Peanut Butter and Honey sandwiches (no jelly) cut into squares, with an appetizer of McDonalds or Banquet chicken nuggets. He won’t eat any other kind, including actual chicken nuggets made from home. You will have a selection of drinks including orange juice, milk and Pepsi. No juice. No alcohol. No coffee or tea. And, if he actually is able to graduate from high school, he will quite possibly be the only child who has done so without turning in homework. He does the homework; he just won’t turn it in. I’m sure his professors will be less demanding about turning in homework. And his bosses probably won’t be concerned if he completes his projects but doesn’t turn them in.

My other son has the gift of charm. Being the last, he is intensely concerned with the equality of the world around him and his goal is to make all things equal for all people, animals and things. And he can tell the most descriptive, wildly premeditated stories (lies) while getting away with it. He loves children and animals and sports and reading and taking photos and drawing. He hates sitting still, being lectured to, boring things and doing his chores. Oh, and cleaning his room will never be a skill he excels at.

So, you see I’m a horrible parent because I have children. Children, who lie, skip school, annoy their siblings and are picky eaters (among other things). And, I actually discipline, punish and make my children pay the consequences of their actions. Apparently I’m in the minority.

I’m always curious about people who ask questions like “Why does your child feel the need to lie?” I have always told myself that even though my children aren’t perfect, I have a pretty good grasp of their faults and their strengths. And I think I’ve done pretty well at figuring out the whole child-psychology part of parenting. If my child were accused of being a serial killer, an abusive husband, a pregnant teen, or a crack addict, I’d think as a parent I’d know. How can you not know your child lies? Do you honestly believe everything that comes out of their mouth? Really? Someone stole your bike but brought it back and put it in another spot – just to annoy you. Your wallet was mysteriously lifted out of your pocket but you can describe the person that did it.

I read about parents in the news that didn’t know their teen was pregnant and gave birth to a healthy, full term baby, but then left the baby in the garbage to die. How can you NOT realize your child is pregnant – and then suddenly NOT pregnant? Or the parents who “honestly” didn’t know their son was planning militant warfare on school grounds against his school mates. The strange packages from UPS and the fact that his room is always locked wasn’t a clue? Or you were surprised to hear from other people that your child is a drug dealer. Those kids that turn up at all hours of the night in expensive, loud cars are just paying back the lunch money they owe your kid. And it’s a huge surprise to you when you find out that your child is bullying, disrespecting or otherwise tormenting other children during recess, in the hallways or at the park. Because they’re always so nice at home to their siblings. I find it hard to believe that someone is actually that clueless about their child.

Although, apparently I’m as clueless as all get-out; because I believe that my child should possess manners, be nice, polite and respectful; and suffer the consequences if they aren’t. I believe that children should be punished (disciplined, reprimanded, chastised—pick your verb) for misdeeds – as often as they commit them – and as many times as it is necessary to remind them that they have strayed from the path of correctness. I’m not talking about abuse here; I’m talking about applying the board of knowledge to the seat of education on an as-needed basis. I don’t need to be my child’s friend or buddy. I need to be the person my child can trust to always tell them right from wrong. That means I won’t always be the cool parent. And I probably won’t win any “Parent of the Year” awards.

This is called parenting. Horrible or not, it is what it is.

Girl Scout Cookies and Christianity

Ever notice the similarities in Girl Scout cookies and Christianity?

• There are many types, flavors, colors, and ingredients (Open to anyone)

• You can only get them through a Girl Scout (Jesus is the ONLY way to salvation)

• Girl scouts go door to door selling (Witnessing)

• Everyone has their favorite, but you’d eat any of them (Denominations)

• Some people have rules about eating them (Church beliefs)

• They don’t cost very much ($4/box) (Salvation costs nothing, only your belief)

• You might send them away for gifts (you can tell others about Christ)



There are also some critical differences between them:

• Believing in Jesus doesn’t make you fat

• You can believe in Jesus at any time in your life

• You can never run out of Jesus

• You can be with Jesus forever and ever

• Jesus has never changed